


A Siren's Song

by Halighfataliter



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: AU, Cambridge, Gen, Post Fullmetal Alchemist: Conqueror of Shamballa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:43:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halighfataliter/pseuds/Halighfataliter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All answers cannot be found, all battles cannot be won.</p><p>Sequel to <i>Ondine</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Siren's Song

Ed surrendered himself effortlessly to the relentless flow of thoughts assailing his mind. Ideas blossomed in a breath, clear and sharp and wilted in another. Minutes trickled into hours; darkness tore apart, bleeding pale greyness onto the world. As night gave birth to a new day, a frail and silent morning unbeknownst to him, Ed steadily covered the long boards of his office. Numbers and shorthand notes crammed the black slate, erased on a whim and then rushed in a dull staccato of sounds.

It was exhilarating, the ease of his thoughts, the unfaltering logic guiding his steps. It was soothing too, the tender murmur of a lover to a perpetually moving mind. Ed revelled in it, in the endless possibilities offered to him, roads to be walked and answers to be found. This, this was what being alive felt like, powerful but honest, sweet and true.

And then, Ed’s hand stopped writing. It hovered in the air like a gliding bird and Ed’s eyes widened. For a terrible second, any coherent thought seemed to slip away. Blackness blurred the edge of his vision and the world went silent before a vigorous shake of his head brought him back to reality. Ed felt the soft brush of his hair against his bare shoulders and at once became aware of the prickling of his eyes, of the taut stretch of skin where chalk had dried his palm. He saw the dying flame of the lamp, the clock, ticking seven minutes past the eighth hour. He saw the gentle dance of calcite particles in the flood of light pouring from the window.

Exhaustion suddenly pulled at his limbs, bearing down on him like lead on his shoulders and Ed stumbled to his chair.

The backlash was as familiar as the spontaneous bout of inspiration. Ed had hit more walls than he cared to remember when searching for a way to restore Al’s body. He snorted tiredly. That was a time when he would have fought his body, fought his mind and tried, tried to go back to that last equation, go back to that place where knowledge seemed to flow with inevitable precision. The frustration was maddening. He had run himself to the ground more than once because of it, the sharp edge of panic slicing at his heart and always, the unshakeable certainty that the answer was there, somewhere in the recesses of his mind.

Ed dropped his shoulders and let his forehead touch the wood of the desk gently. He closed his eyes. He had learned a long time ago, all answers cannot be found and all battles cannot be won.

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2012 for the prompt "Writer's Block".


End file.
